Every relationship involves compromise. He gets Match of the Day. You get Desperate Housewives. He gets Croke Park for matches. You get Take That reunion gigs.
You accept he's not George Clooney. He accepts you're not built like Jordan when she was a dirt bird. Or does he? Doing Midday with Colette Fitzpatrick, who is made for her work, she is so photogenic and personable, the issue of plastic surgery came up. More people, women especially, are going for surgical enhancement, but why? It's for themselves, some say. But my view is if men liked a double-A cup, women would leave their bodies to nature, not knives.
Worse still is when men make the choice for women. I know of two women who were given the "chance to change" by the men they loved. One of the men is a well-known television personality who gave his beautiful and clever wife a valuable opportunity to have the stomach fat sucked out of her. She so needed it to increase her IQ.
I didn't know her well, but there was something very skinny about her when we met post-op. She looked like she'd done a turn at Lough Derg. Also, her teeth were straightened, though they were never very crooked. Her hair was uncurled into straight and lank. Her boobs, well, they were massive. He left them alone. But mutual friends told me he footed the bill for the rest. At least he didn't change her feet like in feudal China.
I wanted to ask her: "If he loves you, why is he making you look like a Hello! spread?" Never marry a man whose ambition is to clinch that cheesy a deal. A man who pays for a woman's surgery is like the Jimmy Stewart character in Vertigo, who models Kim Novak into his ideal woman. He dresses her, makes her dye her hair and reinvents her as the cool blonde of his former fascination. The Hitchcock thriller didn't involve remodelling under a scalpel and general anaesthetic, at least. But the twist was, he was turning her into the woman she'd always been. She was a set-up to make him fall for her in the first place.
Another male friend of mine paid for his wife's surgery. He had gone out with her at university, where she had found him to be a philanderer and dumped him. He was just off Clearasil and not ready for serious commitment.
But he thought about her for years and made a dramatic transatlantic run to claim her when her engagement to a US Brad Pitt type came undone. But he was marrying history. He wanted her as she was, not as she'd become. At 30-something she was the product of too many years of nightclubs. So he asked her to make herself what she used to be. Just for him, but he sold it to her as a chance to get back to herself. The silly woman complied. Hair extensions, boob job and tucks to the parts that had gone lumpy. It made no sense that he expected her to rewind the years, to make him feel he was still listening to David Sylvian records.
While she was coping with post-op bruising, he was failing to look in the mirror and see the Bowie fan had gone bald and paunchy. He got lax in his own habits. I heard they divorced quickly.
Hopefully, she realised 30-something means great things. You have nothing to prove. Hopefully, a cosmetic surgeon's table won't be one of your choices. Love the skin you're in, as the advert says.
If he wants you to change physically, send him shopping -- for someone else.